Crave, desolate, you dive in, we follow along
I contrive you with whiskey and Sam Cooke songs
and we lay on our backs, soaking wet
below a static tv set
Conversation flows, counting shooting stars and catfish
but I'll never make a wish

Barefoot, parking lot
getting high in Portland, OR
We echo 17 and we glue it back and poke fun
and it gets real quiet
I don't care
Darting with moonshine, truth or dare
I say just what I'm thinking and second guess instantly
and you laugh at me

We stick to our slow motion memory
It's 1 in the morning and 90 degrees
and though now it is hovering darkly over me
it'll look just like heaven when I get up and leave
You're a ghost
and I can't breathe